No Love City

By Hugh Rogers

In the urban jungles of Chicago, anything goes, and nothing is ever what it seems at first glance. Troy and the Crew are out to get rich any way they can by any means necessary. The love of money encompassed with the greed for power has an awesome pull. Troy soon learns that the cost is always higher than the advertised price when they rob the wrong person and someone is killed in retaliation, setting off a city wide war between the Bros and the Vikings. Bullets fly and the body count increases making the Windy City the murder capital less than 30 days into the new year.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: May 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9781663224842

Hugh Rogers

Hugh Rogers is a Chicago born native, raised by a single mother in the West Englewood area. After experiencing first hand the effects of poverty in urban communities, he is currently pursuing a Bachelor's degree in social work to aid in community outreach efforts.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

THE CREW

Spring 1991

YO MAMA SO dumb the weatherman said it was gonna be chilly outside this morning, and she ran and got a bowl. Talking ’bout, ‘Baby, you can take some of that for lunch today!’ Phil said, cracking on Troy as Rick and Bang busted up laughing.

Oh, so y’all think that shit funny, huh? Bang, y’all so poor that, when I came to ya house for Thanksgiving, yo mama was boiling a bone. And, Rick, yo fat ass mama jumped up in the air and got stuck!

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Rick said. Keep that shit between you two niggas. Don’t be tryna put us up in that shit cuz he is roasting that ass.

Yeah! Phil said. Rick’s moms ain’t fat; she thick! Everybody knows Vicki’s thick with dat big ole booty!

Dayum! Bang and Troy hollered as the 8:30 bell rang. This was an everyday thing for the Crew, cracking jokes on each other and all who were around them each morning before school. Then they’d head over to Troy’s house afterward to play Sega Genesis, where the joke cracking continued for the rest of the day. Troy’s house was the kick it spot, because his mother’s approach to raising boys was very laid-back.

Troy’s older brother was the coolest dude they knew at thirteen and fourteen years old. He had a crew of his own, and he was their leader. It seemed like Troy always had the newest things out, from shoes to video games because of his older brother. When Troy was nine, he had a quarter with a hole drilled through it and a string attached so that he could slip it into the video games at the game room and then snatch it back out as soon as the credits registered. The Crew played games for free that entire summer—up until the owner, Mr. Bryant, caught Bang using it. Troy always had the scams for the Crew to get over because his brother was pretty much into everything, which was, no doubt, why he ended up going to jail.

Yo, what time is Thicky Vicki coming home tonight? Phil asked.

Rick, always on guard, replied, Nigga what time is Effie fat ass coming to the crib tonight? still working the game controller.

Sissy booty ass nigga, I asked cuz Troy found his brother’s fuck flicks stash. But yo ole scary ass ain’t tryna see no pussy—probably scared to death, ole coo ass nigga!

Nigga, fuck you! She ‘on’ get home till like around eleven, so it’s whateva. And for the record, nigga, I ain’t no coo! You ’on’ even know what the fuck a coo is. You just tryna sound like Troy brotha n’em.

You ’on’ even know what a coo is. You just tryna sound like Troy brotha n’em! Phil mimicked him. Just bring y’all lame asses on! he said, referring to both Rick and Bang still playing the game as he headed for the door.

Aye let’s walk around to Amanda’s crib. I bet Daneshia n’em over there. We gonna see if Troy got the game to get ’em to slide ova to Rick’s house to watch this shit with us, Phil suggested.

Troy really did have a way with words when it came to the girls, cuz in no time, he had them convinced to meet them over at Rick’s house to watch porn. Eighth grade was the last time they’d all hung out together.

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Phil, Troy, and Bang had joined the neighborhood gang by the middle of their freshmen year of high school. They’d dropped out and started hanging on the corner by the liquor store, where drugs were being sold. When Rick’s mom noticed they’d taken to hanging there with the gangbangers and drug dealers, they were no longer welcome to step foot across her threshold, and Rick’s days of hanging out with them were over. She started making Rick go to church more and kept him busy doing housework when he was home.

Ricky, go to the store for me. I need some stockings for church tomorrow. And don’t be out there stopping on that corner with them fools you call friends. So many people done got shot out there. Them boys ain’t on their way nowhere but to hell!

Why you ’on’ like Phil and n’em no more, Mama?

"It’s not that I don’t like them, baby. I don’t like the things they’re into, and I just want better for you. That fast life they’re tryna to live ain’t nothing but a fast trip to jail or the grave. And Satan the devil is a lie if he thinks he’s gonna have you. As for me and my household, we shall serve the Lord! Now here. And get me some washing powder and Hills Bros. coffee too.

Rick hated not being able to hang out with the Crew. He knew what they were doing out there slanging and banging, but he had absolutely no interest in any of that. He hated drugs for what they had done to his aunt Vienne and what they’d made her do to get her next fix. He remembered how bad his aunt had looked in the hospital before she’d died. She was a heroin addict and had contracted AIDS from sharing needles with her dope-shooting friends. But before that, she had been his favorite auntie, who’d always wanted him to dance for her and with her. She’d bought him anything he wanted whenever she came around. Her boyfriend, Earl, got strung out first. And it wasn’t long before she was too. Rick never liked drugs after that and vowed never to use or sell them.

What’s up wit’ it, Rick? Bang said as Rick approached him, standing by the corner store.

Nothing, what’s up with you, stud? Mr. Sheffield told me to tell you the next time I saw you that he thought you were coming back to play for him this year, man. He also said to tell you he can still help you get back in school and that you should really think about it before it’s too late. Rick delivered the message from Mr. Sheffield, the basketball coach at Dunbar Vocational High School. Coach was always on them, trying to help them become something more than what was around them. He knew that Kevin, which was Bang’s real name, had potential and where it could take him if he’d just get off the streets and back in school.

Naw, man, I gotta get this money right now, you feel me? That school shit just ain’t cutting it for a nigga right now. But anyway, man kid, yo moms be having that ass up in church like every day on some holy shit like you the fuckin’ pastor and shit, my nigga. I know you be like, If this is what it takes to get to heaven, fuck it, just send me to hell, huh, my nigga?" he said with a light chuckle, attempting to change the subject.

It’s cool, you know. A lot of girls be there, and ain’t nobody getting shot or shot at like out here on the block either.

Yeah, and you know what else ain’t nobody getting? No money or pussy up in there. No wait, nobody but the preacher! Bang shot back with another chuckle.

I heard all that shooting last night. Anybody get smoked out here?

Naw, that was me just testing out my new shit—you know, letting them niggas across the tracks know that we got it for they ass ova here whenever they want it.

Nigga. We call you Bang cuz when you was a baby you were always running into shit, not cuz you was destined to become the next Billy the Kid! Rick said, and they both shared a laugh.

Bang was rapidly becoming a known gunner in the neighborhood—which meant he’d pull and shoot without a moment’s hesitation. His reputation proceeded him, bringing both respect and threats to the name. But to him, the respect was a flattering high, while the threats were beyond his present concerns. One thing was for sure. As the years went by, he lived up to the name, putting in the necessary work and even gaining a few bodies under his belt.

CHAPTER 2

Summer 1996

FOP, FOP, FOP, fop, fop!

Nigga what! Lil Polk yelled, spreading his arms after shooting at the passing car with four rival gang members. All with hats cocked to the sides of their heads. Them muthafuckin tricks gonna stop coming through here like shit sweet! he said returning the 9mm Glock to his waist.

Tension was always thick between rival gangs in the city, especially during the summer months. But make no mistake, Chicago kept it gangsta all year round. Bodies lay cold in the gutter on top of crimson-colored snow and ice in the winter as well. The theme in the city was get down how you live, and the Crew was down to get it anyway it came—from stickups to carjacking to gambling or hustling—anything that brought a dollar.

Gangbanging was a part of everyday life in the Chi; only on the West Side did different mobs exist on the same block corners, separated only by maybe twenty feet, if that, and they all got money. The South Siders never took to that concept—nope! Out south, every gang banged for turf. It was all about the blocks and neighborhoods they could control. And if you got caught on the wrong block in the wrong neighborhood with your hat cocked to the wrong side, they got right up with you, trying to knock that hat, along with your head, off your body.

For the Crew, that neighborhood was called the Dome, and for blocks and blocks there was nothing but Bros, as they called themselves. You couldn’t go five blocks in any direction without still being surrounded by the Bros, except for the few blocks where they’d allowed the Vikings to exist on their turf. The Crew had gotten the OK from their chief to set up shop on the last of the blocks controlled by the Bros. It was kind of like the outskirts just before the true outskirts of the Dome on one of the two blocks that divided the Bros turf from the DDs’ territory. It was simple. If the Crew could hold it down against the DDs, or the Brahs as they called themselves, and their chief got his cut of the profits, everything was a go. That included both manpower and firepower when needed.

Not to mention, though, the chief felt the Vikings were starting to get a little too much money in the Dome. They were only allowed to be there because they had grown up there and were under the same umbrella as the Bros, connecting the two gangs. With the Crew being just a couple of blocks away from the Vikings’ operation, they could snatch up some of their business, and the chief could profit from the situation nicely.

The hypes had been coming through on the regular now, and everything was seeming to go smoothly. A lot of the young Bros came to hang out on the block seeking a come up and the action it promised, being so close to the borderline of the Dome. Everybody was out to make a name for himself. And what better place than on a new strip in the Dome with the Crew.

Tricky, let me get one for this seven. I’ma bring you all them niggas’ customers from across the tracks! plead a bony smoker.

Lou Lou, you been coming short every fuckin time you shop. Hell naw. Get the fuck outta here with that short shit! You don’t be takin’ them niggas over there short money. You come correct every time you shop with them. So don’t come running yo lil bony ass over here with that! Fuck outta here!

You know you can do it, Tricky. Shit I been shopping with you all damn day and ain’t came short one time. I’ll bring you the little funky ass three dollars back!

"I ain’t gonna tell you no more, Lou Lou—Oh shit, slick boys up the one way!" he shouted as he got in the wind with the rest of the cats hanging on the block, leaving the begging hype and approaching detectives with nothing but dissatisfaction.

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What’s up, bro? Everything good? Phil said as he approached Troy. They shook hands using the special gang shake.

Yessir, bro. Everything is truly good. What’s good with you, my nigga? Troy replied.

Where the fuck is everybody at? Phil inquired.

Shit’d, that’s what I was thinking, I just got out here myself, and everybody was ghost when I came through the block. I bet them lil muthafuckas got into it with them niggas across the tracks and ain’t told nobody shit! Troy suggested.

That’s how niggas be getting caught slipping out here when them niggas come through busting! Phil vented.

On everything, bro. That’s how that shit be happening foe sho! Troy said getting hyped up and animated and pounding his fist into his other hand. The lil niggas be going across the tracks yackin’ at them niggas and then coming back over here like ain’t shit happened. And don’t nobody be on point, cuz they don’t know ’bout the shit! he continued.

You seen that nigga Bang today, bro? Phil inquired.

Naw. Last time I seen that nigga he was ’bout to go through Pretty crib late last night after we took care of that. That nigga lovesick foe that bitch for real, bro, knowing she ain’t nothing but a rat!

Yeah, that bitch sho nuff a runna; no doubt ’bout that. But you bet not let that trigga-happy ass nigga hear you saying that shit bout her! Phil warned with a slight chuckle as he passed the blunt.

Dat nigga don’t wanna fuck around. You think Lil Polk put hands and feet on his ass when he ran up on him with that tripping shit cuz that bitch gave him some pussy. I ain’t gonna play no games with ’em, bro, on everything! Troy said in between pulls off the blunt.

Matter of fact, here this lovesick ass nigga go right here still driving that damn steama he s’posed to got rid of last night. Aye, why the fuck is you still riding round in that hot-ass shit, nigga? You gonna get the fuckin’ block and every nigga ova here locked the fuck up! Phil barked.

I got this shit, nigga. Chill the fuck out and let me do this! said an aggravated Bang.

Naw, nigga, he right. You know what the deal is with that demo. You bogus as hell, bro. You gonna fuck around and get us knocked! Troy cut in.

Quit crying, nigga. Don’t nobody wanna hear that shit! Bang retorted as he pulled off again.

Next time that nigga do some dumbass shit like that, I’ma give his ass one to the leg, my nigga on my mama! Phil fumed.

Bang was a young killer, but Phil and Troy were just as deadly, with equal body counts in the hood. Bang just had the catchy name and was more flamboyant with everything he did, causing him to stand out. Phil was the mastermind of the three and, therefore, the most dangerous. Bang was his boy, but he was always doing something stupid that jeopardized them all like his brain didn’t work.

Oh yeah, bro. I ran into this nigga I know name Tony up at the Gyros spot last night. He gave me his number and told me to get at him. I think the nigga was spooked or something, cuz some of the lil Bros was up in there tripping with him and shit. The nigga acted like I was Jesus coming to save him, all glad to see me and shit. Troy exaggerated.

Is that the nigga they call Tee? He supposed to be a black Colombian or something? Phil asked.

"Yeah, that’s the nigga, and he gettin it! His mom’s peeps s’posed to had put him on strong, and now he ridin big body Benz having shit his way. He had a bitch with him last night—I bullshit you not—that looked like she was Chilli from TLC.

Yeah, I heard ’bout that nigga. So that’s what money do for ya, huh? Phil said before throwing down the tiny remains of the blunt they’d just smoked. So, when you gonna hit him up? he asked, releasing the smoke from his lungs.

I ’on’ know, bro. I wish we could grab that nigga and make his people run that bag to get his bitch ass back!

You know what, bro? I know just how we can get that nigga. Peep game—when we finish this work we got now, you call him to re-up and see how much he’ll charge you foe a four and a split. Then we start shopping with the nigga to get him comfortable so we can get close to him. I know he gonna wanna front you something, cuz ain’t no nigga tryna break nothing down—not ridin’ round this bitch in a big body Benz! Phil explained.

Fo sho, bro that’s what we on! Troy said, rubbing his hands together.

The Crew was jack boys, stickup niggas whenever the opportunity presented itself, and didn’t care what set a nigga was hollering when it came time to get em. Lately, though, they’d been hustling slinging rocks since the last jack move they’d pulled and found $50,000 in the trunk. After splitting it three ways and doing some shopping and partying, they barely had enough between them to buy an eighth of a kilo. Because they were known for sticking niggas up, there weren’t too many of the Bros that were willing to serve them, and the cats that would were just as grimy as they were and had garbage work, they called whoop.

Now with their own block, they’d been copping from an old cat everybody called Head. His work was good, and the price was right for them because he was messing with Phil’s auntie. Head was about his business, though, and had a string of killers in his employ just as dangerous and cruddy as the Crew; only they were loyal to him to the death. Phil knew that, if they ever tried to pull it with him, it wouldn’t turn out good for the Crew. So, they always came straight up with him when doing business.

Ah shit, bro. I knew it was something I wanted to tell you! Troy said with a slight chuckle. Lil Polk did some kind of karate chop on Tank and knocked him dead asleep! You know Tank fuck with his sister Tiny, right? I guess he s’posed to been hitting on her and shit. Nigga must’ve thought that Tae kwon do Lil Polk know was fake or a joke or something! he said, wiping away tears from laughing so hard.

"Yeah, shorty tough with the hands and feet. Shit’d his old